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The Poetical Works of John Payne

Definitive Edition in Two Volumes

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AREOPAGITICA.
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275

AREOPAGITICA.

It may be expedient to note that the word “kings” is, by a quasi-elliptical figure, necessitated by the concision of expression inseparable from verse-composition, employed in this poem in a general sense, as a comprehensive term denoting, not only the traditional and semifabulous type of the bloodthirsty and heartless monarch of popular legend, but all kinds of egotistical and irresponsible oppressors of humanity, whether aristocratic or plebeian, ancient tyrants or modern exploiters of the Jacobin gospel of Liberty-to-oppress-one's-fellows, Flails of God or political breedbates, slavers or beanbaggers, worldwasters or Trade-union agitators, Philip II or Krüger, Lopez or Lassalle, Gengis Khan or Gambetta, Tiberius or Marat, Attila or O'Connell, Richard of Gloucester or Charles James Fox, Sylla or Moraes, Cromwell or Couthon, Borgia or Barère, Nero or Robespierre. (I confess that, for my part, I can see no moral difference,—except it be in favour of the superior frankness of the Roman ruffian, who, at least, did not claim to benefit humanity by the indulgence of his delirious appetites, —between the frenzied antics of the Imperial corybant, rhapsodizing over the ruins of his capital, and the hyena-orgies celebrated by the obscene cutthroats of the self-styled Comité du Salut Public, the dastardly purveyors of the guillotine, whilst engaged in organizing the cold-blooded murder of thousands of innocent victims of the best and worthiest blood of France.) The monarchical tyrant of the legendary type has for centuries past ceased to exist, the last (and imperfect) example having perhaps been offered by Louis XIV, although it must be confessed that the late Prince Bismarck and his “empéreur mécanique” presented many of the characteristic features of the genus. The debonair and soft-hearted rulers of our own days, Franz Josef of Austria, Leopold I of Belgium, Maximilian of Mexico, Ludwig I of Bavaria, Napoleon III, Humbert of Italy, Frederick of Germany, Dom Pedro II of Brazil, &c., men illustrious for all the virtues calculated to adorn a private station and greatly to be pitied for the accident of fate which placed them in a position where their very qualities could not but militate against their security,—can in general be reproached with one sole default, to wit, the lack of the (to a monarch) indispensable capacity of sternness and determination, necessary for the protection, by the unsparing enforcement of justice and discipline, of themselves and their subjects from the irreconcilable enemies of society. Since the monstrous latter-day development (for its origin we must go back to the Garden of Eden or, yet farther into the dark backward of Time, to the birth of those eldest of the passions, greed and envy,) of the shameless and heartless juggle best known by the modern euphemism of “Liberalism” and the forcible inoculation of society with the Radical doctrines of “Ôte-toi de là, que je m'y mette” and “La carrière ouverte aux non-talents,” (notwithstanding the terrible object-lesson of the French Revolution, which demonstrated, once and for all and past all appeal, the radical falsity of the optimistic views of human nature maintained by Rousseau and his fellow-sentimentalists of the hysteric school and proved, with crushing conclusiveness, that the human animal, especially of the inferior ethnical strains, is, when unrestricted by laws and uncurbed by social and religious conventions, a ferocious and heartless wild beast, dangerous and pernicious to the world as to himself, the attempted realization of humanitarian theories and Republican chimeras, although absolutely unhindered and pursued, under exceptionally favourable circumstances, to its logical issue, having resulted in the absolute domination of the criminal classes and the utter ruin of France under the frightful oppression of the Jacobin leaders, men stained with the foulest vices, who would, under any decent system of government, have passed their whole lives in prison,) the equivalent of the old despot-type must be sought in the ranks of the so-called “popular” party, among the cynical and unscrupulous social and political agitators, who, in pursuit of their own private advantage, deliberately address themselves to excite class against class and to exploit, to their own profit, the brute passions and cupidities of the ignorant and gullible masses, upon whom the balance of political power has, by the incredible folly and weakness of their natural guardians and directors, been allowed to devolve; the “sophisticated rhetoricians” and professional humbuggers, the “tonguesters”, who, however carefully they may dissimulate the alliance, are the natural and inevitable abettors and coadjutors of the “knifesters”; the shameless jackpuddings who allow no consideration, public or private, to interfere with the flagrant indulgence of their raging vanity and of whom a fair sample is the crew of malignant busybodies who flood the less reputable portions of the press with their anti-patriotic vapourings and vent their spleen upon the country, which treats them with the well-merited contempt due to those who have an insatiable appetite for notoriety, but are naturally ungifted to achieve reputation by fair means, by heaping the filthiest calumnies on our armies and their commanders and extolling as saints and heroes the bandit hordes of froward and faithless churls, (notable for but one quality, a brute tenacity, an animal hardihood having little in common with the combination of magnanimous virtues, which we in England honour under the name of “courage”,) from whom our soldiers are now (March 1902) proceeding, with the noblest patience and with unexampled magnanimity, to deliver suffering South Africa; brief, among the tribe of fishers in troubled waters, who have, in the service of their own mean ends, extirpated the sense of moral obligation from the minds of the intellectually and morally lower classes (I speak of the wilfully ignoble “smart” class, so-called, at the top, no less than of the far more excusable, because passive and helpless, ethnical residuum at the bottom of the social scale) and have gone far to undermine the moral basis of society, the principle, incomparably formulated by Mazzini, of the performance of duty as the indispensable condition precedent of the enjoyment of any right, which is the necessary foundation of every social fabric. The names of such pests of society, men who have founded their fortunes, social, material and political, upon the ruin and misery of their dupes and the often irreparable injury of their native land, will suggest themselves (alas!) in abundance to all impartial students of contemporary politics and sociology,— names which will, it may safely be prophesied, be held by future generations in at least equal execration with those of the typical tyrants of tradition, as those of heartless and ruthless oppressors of their kind and enemies of humanity, who have brought more widespread ruin upon the world than Napoleon or Gengis Khan and who, by pursuing their private aims under the pretence of philanthropic enthusiasm and of engrossing concern for the welfare of their poorer fellows, have added the crowning sin of hypocrisy to the franker vices of their predecessors.

‘Parle aux oppresseurs; enveloppe-les des plaintes, des gémissements, des cris de leurs victimes; qu'ils les entendent dans leur sommeil et les entendent encore dans leur veille; qu'ils les voient errer autour d'eux comme des pâles fantômes, comme des ombres livides; que partout les suive l'effrayante vision; que ni le jour ni la nuit elle ne s'éloigne d'eux; qu'à l'heure du crépuscule, lorsqu'ils s'en vont à leurs fêtes impies, ils sentent sur leur chair l'attouchement de ces spectres et qu'ils frissonnent d'horreur.’ Lamennais, Une voix de prison.
I WENT in the night of the summer, under the woods in the gloaming,
Under the crown of the oaks and the solemn shade of the pines;
I followed the lamps of the angels, over the firmament roaming,
And sought for the ciphers of fate in their inscrutable signs.
And lo! as I went in the shade, at the hour when the sky is darkened
And the silver disc of the moon under the cloud-line dips,
I heard a sound in the air, as if the forest-world hearkened;
A power there was born in my breast and a spirit spoke from my lips,
Saying, ‘Come forth and be judged, O ye that have darkened living,
Ye that have stolen the sweet and the savour from pleasant life!
I tell you, the hour is at hand that shuts you out from forgiving,
The time you shall answer for all you've sown of anguish and strife.

276

‘Stand forth, o ye kings, in your purple! Stand forth, o ye priests, in your shame!
Merchants and slavers, ye all that thrive on the blood of your kind!
Ye all that have helped in men's bosoms to stifle the sacred flame,
Have stolen their fruit of gladness and left but the bitter rind!
‘Stand forth and give ear to the wrongs, as the bards and the sages have told them,
Your fellows have done to men, in the dusk of the bygone time!
Hearken and tremble for fear, as the eyes of your soul behold them
Bound in the singing hell of the poet's terrible rhyme!
‘Stand forth, o ye kings, in your purple; masters of nations and armies!
Ye all that have held in your hands the keys of evil and good!
Ye all that have ransacked life to search and to see where the charm is,
Have rifled the blossoms of hell to stay your hunger with food!
‘Ye all that have not been content with lusting and riot and madness,
Have sucked for a sharper delight in your people's anguish and fears,
Have made your life joyous with pain and glad from your servants' sadness,
Fair, fair with the horror of blood, sweet, sweet with the bitter of tears!

277

‘Behold! I will summon you up from the heart of the glooms infernal;
Up, up from your darksome graves; up, up from your slumbers of stone.
I will make you your shame for a sign and your anguish a thing eternal;
I will spare not a whit to your souls of the ruin and wrack you have sown.
‘Stand forth and be judged, o ye merchants! that heap you up gold without measure,
That wither to sparkling dross the golden fruit of the years,
That gather the incense of sighs and the sweat of men's blood for your treasure,
That fashion to gold our griefs and make coined gold of our tears!
‘Ye all that have thrived on the pain and the griefs and the need of the toilers,
Have bounden your burdens on life, that hold it tearless and dumb!
Ye all that, to lengthen the scope and the harvest-time for the spoilers,
Have sealed up the portals of Life, lest Death the deliverer come!

In allusion to the civil and religious prohibition of suicide, a truly fiendish invention of Semitic origin.

‘Stand forth and be judged, o ye priests! that suck out the souls of the nations,
That darken the azure of heaven into the gloom of a pall,
That fetter men's health and their strength with your prayers and your imprecations,
That poison their hopes with doubting and mingle their gladness with gall!

278

Ye all that have ever been ready to work out the will of the tyrants,
To toll, at a despot's bidding, fair Freedom's funeral knell!
Ye all that to strangle thought and to shackle its upward aspirance,
Have lengthened the struggles of life into the horrors of hell!
Behold! I will summon you up the pale sad shapes without number,
That gave up the ghost without speaking, the spoil of your pitiless hands!
I will call up the unnamed victims that whelm all the world with their cumber,
That fester the fields with their anguish and shade with their sorrow the lands!
‘You think ye have silenced them now; and the spirit within you rejoices!
You think that requital is none and none shall rebuke you again!
I tell you, I hear in mine ears the dumb inarticulate voices,
That speak with the clearness of thunder from ocean and forest and plain!
‘I tell you, the hollow graves, where the tyrants that went before you
Lie in the prison-sleep of the middle sepulchre's gloom,
Are bound with the selfsame fate that threatens and hovers o'er you,
Ring with the selfsame curse and quake with the selfsame doom!

279

‘For the doom that their victims wrought not, the curse that they died unspeaking,
Grew and shall grow for aye with their mouldering forms in the earth:
The vengeance they might not wreak, the winds and the worms are wreaking,
Breaking the sleep of the dead with a fierce and terrible mirth.
‘But lo! a more horrible doom and a nearer vengeance are waiting
For you, if ye turn not away from your sins and humble your heads.
For the fate, that is ripened for you, shall wait no death for its sating,
Shall grow in your living hearts and lie in your silken beds.
‘I tell you, the soul of the dead and the wailing dumb in their dying
Is gathered again by the winds and garnered up in the flowers:
I tell you, their yearning is hid and their curses and prayers are lying,
Ready to burst on your heads, in the womb of the coming hours.
‘For a season shall be when the meat that you eat shall be sad with their curses,
The drink that you drink shall be deadly and bitter to death with their tears,
The garments you wear shall burn and eat to your hearts like Dirce's,
The sights that you see shall be as a fire that maddens and sears.

280

‘The eyes of the dead shall look, with a doom and an accusation,
From the eyes of the friends you love and the maidens that kiss your lips;
The voice of the dead in your ears shall clamour without cessation;
The shade of their hate shall darken your lives with its fell eclipse.
‘And if you shall say: The grave will give us the peace we burn for,
Will bring us the senseless sleep and the rest untroubled by thought;
We shall sleep with our fathers of old and have the ease that we yearn for,
Free from the memory's pain and the wraiths of the things we wrought;
‘The doom that you laid on others shall fall on yourselves, unsparing;
The anguish you felt of old shall seem as nought to the new:
For the earth, that shall wrap you about, shall shutter you in from all sharing,
Shall fetter you fast in her arms, where nothing can succour you.
‘The lapses you had in life, when the anguish failed for a second
And the memory slid away from the moment's glitter and glow,
You shall never have them again, when once the angel hath beckoned,
When once your bodies are dust and your heads in the tomb are low.

281

‘For the wraiths of the wrongs you wrought shall compass you round, unceasing;
The spirits of all the dead you crushed in your bitter strife
Shall gird you about with a fire and an anguish for aye increasing,
Shall fashion for you in death a new and terrible life.
‘Wherefore I bid you repent. For the time draws nigh to the reaping;
The harvest ripens apace and the sickle lies in the tares.
I counsel you turn from your sins with fear and sorrow and weeping,
Whilst yet the trumpets are dumb and the fire of the judgment spares.’
 
‘Kein Gott, kein Heiland erlöst ihn je
Aus diesen singenden Flammen!’

Heine.